


Two Hearts Mending

by belovedhell (orphan_account)



Series: Two Souls, One Aching Heart [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Caring Dean Winchester, Desperation, Epilogue, Fever, Hopeful Ending, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Promises, Sharing a Bed, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 21:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13773126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/belovedhell
Summary: Takes place after Unconditional Heartbreaker: Sam still has a fever and Dean is taking care of him.





	Two Hearts Mending

**Author's Note:**

> It's good to be back! Also I changed my username on here guys. I used to be immortalwriter, now I'm belovedhell; just a heads up. Anyways, I know I said I wouldn't continue a sequel to this series (but I will be working on a prequel) however I found a part that was connected to the story, so I decided to do a epilogue. It's hinted as a hopeful ending. I'm now not continuing this!
> 
> Comments and Kudos are lovely and appreciated.

The following morning everything was the same. Dean wasn't in the room. It was just Sam and a runny nose— Sam winced when he tried to breathe, he had a congested nose and sore throat. His muscles were sore and weak, and his chest had a burning sensation.

He had the flu. That would explain the fever from yesterday.

Sam glanced at the other made bed before turned towards the door. Did Dean even stay with him last night? Did he really hold him? Sam wondered if it was just another vivid hallucination from his high fever.

As he scanned the room... there was no hint that Dean even stayed here. No duffle bag. No alcohol. Nothing. Sam frowned. He should have known. It was too good to be true.

He shut his eyes and drifted to sleep. Sam couldn't do much today due to his flu, besides, there was no new case for them to be doing. Sam could rest for a few hours.

When he woke up, Sam caught a glimpse of Dean sitting on his bed. He had his elbows on his knees and his wore a firm expression. Sam hadn't seen that face in a long time. Usually, when he had that expression it meant that Dean was in a deep thought.

"D-Dean," Sam said, coming out raspy and faint. Luckily, Dean heard as he raised his head up.

"Sam... How are you feeling?" Dean asked.

"B-Better." Sam coughed, then sniffled. "Can you give me a tissue? I can't breathe." Dean grabbed the tissue box from the nightstand and handed the whole thing to him. "T-Thanks." Sam blew his red nose.

Dean shifted his feet and said, "I, uh, got you some chicken soup. I figured you'd have a cold so I went to get some from the nearest gas station."

Sam's eyes widened in shock, last night wasn't a dream or a vivid hallucination. It was real. And Dean was still here with him. Either Sam was dead and he had gone to heaven, or he was incredibly sick that it made Dean feel shitty to see him like that. Probably the second one. Nevertheless, Sam was relieved that his brother didn't ignore him.

"Sounds good." Sam wasn't hungry, but he needed to get his strength back if he wanted to get better.

Dean nodded, not sure what to do next.

Sam took pity on him. "You can go back to your room. I can handle myself now." He still hadn't gotten up from his spot, instead his head was resting against the pillows, tilting his head as he talked to Dean.

"I—" Dean cleared his throat. "I only booked us this room. Surprise?" Just as Sam was about to protest, Dean scoffed, "I wasn't going to leave you alone, Sam! Jesus Christ. You were really sick. I wasn't going to leave you alone like that. I couldn't."

Suddenly, anger bubbled inside Sam as he said, "Then where have you been months ago, Dean! I've been having suicidal thoughts—" Sam should shut up and take it all back, but he couldn't since he was filled with an overwhelmed emotion: hatred. "—since you started to avoid me like a plague. You made me feel like a goddamn freak, a monster!"

Dean was gaping, eyes bulging in horror. Sam bit his lips as he slowly sat up. When he glanced at Dean, he could see him beating himself up with guilt as he had his hand over his mouth.

"Why didn't you ever tell me this?" Dean's voice was strained and broken. He didn't dare look at Sam.

"Why?" Sam cold-heartedly laughed. "Because you didn't care. A part of me thought you hated me because you made me hear  _everything_. All the girls you fucked. I saw no point of being alive. You were the only thing that kept me going..." His anger shifted into sorrow.

"Sam..." Dean slowly took a step in front of him, careful not to anger him.

"There were so many times that I thought about putting a bullet in my head and just ending it all. Dean wouldn't miss me anyway. But I couldn't fucking do it. I'm a weak man... And you know what else? I let the werewolf attack me purposely just so I could get some sort of punishment. A painful death would've been better for me." Sam's eyes were filled with unshed tears, his chin quivering as he finally said the truth.

Dean sat beside him. No words came out for a minute. Sam had been having these dark thoughts... and Dean didn't know about it. Then again, how would he? They've been in separated rooms and so far apart for a long time that there was no longer a connection. The bond was gone.

"I can't do this right now," Dean finally said, shaking his head. He hid his emotions as he composed himself. It pissed off Sam.

"You never can, Dean!" Sam snapped. "When shit gets real you go up and running all the time. Like right now!" Sam rose from his bed to face his brother, ignoring the dizziness that wouldn't leave him alone. "What? Afraid of me being gone? Or are you thrilled that I could be?"

"What the fuck, Sam?" Dean hissed. "Don't say shit like that!" He gritted his teeth, glaring at him.

"Why? Don't you get it, Dean! I can't be your brother because I don't see you like one!" He stood so close to Dean, so close that they were directly face to face. It made Dean uncomfortable. Sam could tell as he kept stepping back. Away from him.

"Sam, back off." Dean tried to warn, however his tone dropped, replacing it with fear. As Dean's back hit against the wall, he braced himself when Sam's face was ghosting against his, prompting Dean to tilt his head away. "Seriously, back the fuck off!" Now he regretted holding Sam last night. He just wanted to comfort him. That's all.

"What's the matter? Am I in your personal space?" Sam sneered. "Punch me then. I won't stop you."

Dean's hands balled into fists, tempting to clock Sam, yet he didn't make an attempt. Instead he said, "You're  _sick_ , Sammy." Sam snorted at that  _word_. Did Dean need to remind him? "Not like that, dumbass! I mean you're physically sick. You have a flu. You need to rest."

Sam rested his head on Dean's shoulder while grasping onto his biceps. Sam could feel Dean tensing underneath his fingertips. He should back away and listen to Dean. "Please... Just a little longer," he breathed, slightly pleading. " _Please_."  _Let me touch you_.

Dean didn't know how long he held his breath until he answered, "O-Okay, Sammy." He had never seen Sam in such a devastating state before. It broke Dean's heart to witness his baby brother, who was strong and brave, become defeated and despondent.

"Thank you. Thank you," Sam murmured the same words, near his neck.

Dean never once moved his arms, instead they were hanging on his sides.

* * *

Sam was resting on the bed, a bunch of tissues balled up together beside him. His nose was bright red and his lips were chapped, almost pale looking. A bowl of chicken soup was resting on the nightstand.

He was too weak to reach over and pick it up. Sam was getting woozy from staring at the ceiling for too long.

Dean left a while ago, said something about getting more painkillers, at least that was what he assumed. Sam couldn't really hear him due to constantly blowing his nose. Before Dean left he put a wet rag on Sam's forehead as a precaution, just in case his fever came back.

Sam didn't know how long he lay there, breathing heavily, mouth trembling and hands shaking from the sudden shiver that coursed through his body. Dean returned with a bag in his hand. He did go to the store after all. Deep down Sam believed it was a ruse so he could go to the bar instead.

"D-Dean," Sam uttered out. He raised his shaky hand, desperately wanting to grab Dean's.

Dean cussed and set the items on the counter. "Damn it, Sam! Why didn't you call me if you were feeling worse," Dean growled. He rushed towards him, sitting near the edge, grasping on Sam's hand.

Sam clutched his palm. "It'll pass. I just need you here," he breathed, face flushed. Sam was beginning to sweat excessively, mumbling incoherent words, "Don't... Please... Here." He scrunched his eyes and whimpered.

"It's okay, Sammy. Not going anywhere."

And Sam believed.

It was like that the rest of the day: Sam mostly in bed, with Dean next to him. He had a fever of 101, which was still bad. Sam held onto Dean's hand with his clammy one.

Dean tried to spoon feed Sam soup, but his brother kept craning his head away. He wasn't hungry. Sam just wanted to sleep. "C'mon, Sammy, you gotta eat," Dean pleaded. "For me." It was a low blow but Dean got desperate.

Sam nodded and then opened his mouth, slowly. Dean sighed in relief, his lips forming a small smile. Sam swallowed a few mouthfuls of soup, a few drops escaped his mouth, and Dean caught them with the spoon.

"N-No more," Sam said, gargling.

"Just a little more," Dean urged, another spoonful of soup near his mouth.

Sam shook his head. "No, please."

Dean obeyed and set the bowl back on the nightstand. He rose to fetch another wet rag. Sam eyed him, brows knitted together, wondering why Dean wasn't acting like himself.

Was it because of him?

Sam's heart sank. Did he ruined everything again? Even though he was busy worrying, he couldn't help but feel sleepy. His eyes started droop. But that's odd? Sam was fine ten minutes ago— sure, he was worn out, but not exhausted.

As he tilted his head, Sam's gaze landed on the unfinished soup. No. Dean wouldn't. That would explain why he wanted Sam to eat most of the soup.

Dean came out of the bathroom with a rag in his hand.

"Why?" Sam said with watery eyes. Did Dean want him gone?

Dean frowned before realizing what Sam meant as he stared at the bowl. "No! It's nothing bad, Sammy," he promised, striding to Sam with a hurt expression. "I would never do that to you. I swear. It was medicine for your fever. I didn't want to tell you because I know you don't like taking it by itself. Remember when you got mad at me when we were young? You always preferred it in foods," Dean explained.

Sam blinked, processing Dean's words. Dean remembered all that?

"Really?" he whispered.

The bed dipped, and it took Sam a few seconds to realize that Dean lay right next to him, like last night.

"Promise." Dean gave him a reassuring smile and kissed Sam's temple.

Sam hoped he wasn't dreaming this. He prayed he wasn't. But when Dean squirmed closer to Sam, he knew that it was no dream as he felt his warmth and his arms around him.

"Don't leave," Sam murmured, voice low and drowsy.

"I won't, Sam. I won't." His head rested against Sam's, showing that he was never leaving him.

As Sam's eyes shut, the only soothing thing he heard was Dean's breathing before welcoming the darkness. He didn't know what this meant, but it was more than enough for Sam.


End file.
